


Flying Fox

by EldritchSandwich



Series: Superiorverse [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Chunky Sandwich, Explicit Language, F/F, Gen, Romance, Slice of Life, Some Humor, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:32:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10011686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EldritchSandwich/pseuds/EldritchSandwich
Summary: Fighting a supervillain armed with squirt guns? Uncovering the dark secrets of superhero PR? Suddenly going out with the girl you had a crush on as a teenager? All in a day's work for Flying Fox, Superior City's greatest...well, most popular...er, most fruit-bat themed superheroine.





	1. ...and the Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> This technically takes place in the same setting as (and features a minor cameo from) my earlier superhero story Powerless. You don't have to read that to understand this, and in fact unless you're comfortable with somewhat extreme sexual content I'd recommend against it.

I look down at the street. It's an eight story building, which means there's plenty of time for the flaps to slow my fall. It also means that if they don't, it'll definitely kill me. So, there's that. I take a deep breath, reach under my hood, and tap my earpiece.

"Trevor?"

"Yeah, yo. You jump yet?"

"No, I didn't fucking jump yet. And maybe sound a little less enthusiastic about me killing myself maybe?"

"Come on, dude, don't be a pussy. They're better than the old ones, right? They're gonna work, just do it."

"Yeah, easy for you to say."

"Look, you wanna stand around on a rooftop bitching all night, or do you wanna fight some crime?"

"All right, fine, Jesus! Just...shut the fuck up and let me concentrate."

There's silence on the other end of the line. I wait a few seconds, but it looks like Trevor's actually playing nice for once. Okay then. Here we go. No more stalling. I take a breath, tuck in, and jump.

That first moment in the air is fucking exhilarating, just like it always is. It's like I'm really flying, like I'm just going to keep floating straight across to the next rooftop. Of course, I'm not. I'm not that kind of superhero. I start to feel gravity again, like it's happening in slow motion, and with a prayer that may or may not be something along the lines of "Jesus fucking Christ Mother Mary please don't let your son kill me" I angle my body down, throw out my arms...

...and soar.

The second I feel the tug of the air resistance, I know they're going to hold. These flaps are all new, longer and more rigid than the old ones but also fold up more neatly under my arms when I'm not in the air. My descent is slow, graceful, and beautiful.

Wait, maybe not that slow. Shit. Shitshitshitshit tuck and roll Rosie tuck and fucking roll...

I nail it. It's a fucking gold medal landing, right into a forward roll, and when I spring up the grapple gun's in my right hand. I aim high, at the top of the fire escape on the building across the street, and when the line reels in I'm fucking headed for the moon. There's enough air here for me to really test the maneuverability, duck and weave a little, and holy shit they're so much more responsive than the old ones. I aim for the mouth of the alleyway to the side of the building, ready to roll or grapple if I miscalculate, but I shoot right through with a whoop of pure joy. Holy fucking shit, I've never felt this alive without being in a fight before. I pull up the other grapple with my left hand, snag the edge of the building, and go careening around the corner just as my earpiece buzzes.

"Okay Jesus, just fucking tell me you're not dead, okay?"

"Whoo! It works! Holy shit it works! Watch your motherfuckin' ass, crime!"

Trevor laughs in my ear in pure relief, and as I shoot up into the sky again I can't help but join him. Every once in a while, on rare occasion...being me doesn't suck.

Who is me? I mean, who am I? Simple.

I'm the goddamn Flying Fox.


	2. ...and the Full Night's Work

My real name's Rosario North. I'm an orphan turned Olympic gymnast turned sidekick turned superhero. I'm an associate member of the Grand Champions, which isn't nearly as big or impressive a league as it sounds; its members mostly protect the West Side and outlying suburbs from street crime and wannabe supervillains, and consist of about half powers and half neutrals. I'm part of the latter half.

I don't have superpowers. I mean, I'm empirically one of the world's best gymnasts, I'm trained in Muay Thai, Krav Maga, and criminology, and I've got the grapple guns and the glider suit, which all sounds pretty impressive by normal people standards, but in the crimefighter community it's still not the same as being able to shoot fire out of your hands, or turn into a giant muscle monster, or fly. If I had money and gadgets and vehicles and a support team or even just the right backing, I'm probably good enough to crack the majors, at least eventually, but my inheritance and what's left of the endorsements from my athletic career total just about enough for a one bedroom apartment in Overton Row, a utility belt full of zip ties, and Trevor.

Still, just because I'm not going to be saving the city from Doctor Oblivion or blasting meteors out of space or whatever doesn't mean I can't make a difference. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if you asked the mugger whose chest my boots just slammed into or the guy he was about to shank, they'd tell you I was making a pretty big goddamn difference at the moment.

It's one of my favorite opening moves, swinging in on the grapple for momentum then using the torque of the release to roll into the target's center mass with a big two-footed screw kick. It's not exactly economical martial arts, but screw it, I'm a superhero; sometimes you just gotta make an entrance.

Heh, screw it.

The mugger goes flying back almost ten feet and rolls to a stop against the chainlink fence of the parking lot we're currently in. He groans, but he doesn't get up, which is pretty much the sweet spot in terms of incapacitating someone but not accidentally killing or crippling them. So go me.

I turn to find the guy who was getting mugged edging toward what I assume is his car; he's older, put-together, and looking pretty freaked out. "You okay, sir?"

He shakes his head. "Uh...yeah. Sure, whatever."

I zip-tie the mugger's hands, tap my earpiece, and get halfway through telling Trevor to call 911 before he tells me they're already on their way. I turn around to see the vic sliding into the driver's seat. It's a pretty fancy-looking car; no wonder this kid decided to mug him. "Sir, you might want to stick around, I think the cops'll want a statement."

The guy scowls. "Hey, you can't tell me what to do, you're not a cop!"

I try not to groan out loud. Oh Jesus, great. One of these. "Sir, without your statement this guy's probably gonna walk, you know that right?"

The guy's scowl just gets deeper. "You know what, fuck you bitch! I was already late when this asshole jumped me, you can't keep me here, I'm going home!"

I have to jump back to get out of the way as he peels out of the parking lot. I sigh, flip him the bird with one hand, and with the other pull my phone out of its pouch on my utility belt to get a shot of his plates. Cops'll probably want it when they take my statement.

As I lean back against the fence and wait for the sirens, I look down at the kid lying on the asphalt and shake my head. "Should've just let you stab his ass."

* * *

"Anything else?"

I shake my head. "Nah, it's been a pretty quiet night. You?"

"Some guy with a homemade raygun tried to blow up his ex-girlfriend's apartment building. Ended up backfiring and blowing his hand off instead. Probably be all over the news tomorrow."

"Jesus."

Tish takes another bite of her gyro. We're at the 24-hour falafel truck on 18th; it's kind of the three AM lunch version of a water cooler for the supers on the West Side, who I strongly suspect are the only reason it stays in business. "Just glad she didn't get hurt. One more entitled-ass ex-boyfriend trying to take it out on everybody else."

Laticia Miller, aka Voodoo Doll, is another member of the Grand Champions. She's been one for a few years longer than I have, and she has a little more status on account of that and the fact that she has a real superpower, these green telekinetic coils that are apparently _magical_ , but not the result of her _using_ magic? I don't know. What I do know is that our beats overlap, she sponsored me for membership, and she's basically the best friend I've got these days.

"So how are things with you and Darrel?"

She rolls her eyes. "Ugh. Speaking of entitled-ass boys. I'm gonna break up with him."

"What? Why?" I ask, as if she'd need to pick a reason.

"Oh, usual biphobic bullshit. We're at the point now where every time we see a fine girl when we're together he's either trying to hit me up for a three-way or getting all jealous about how I'm probably cheating on him with some ho." I try not to snort. "Sometimes I think you got a better deal just being into chicks."

I don't try not to snort. "Yeah, sometimes I think that too. Usually when I've had a girlfriend in the last year."

"Like the new costume, by the way."

"Oh, thanks. It's really just the glide flaps, but I thought I'd reinforce the armor a little while I was at it." While Tish's costume is about as sexy and culturally sensitive as the name 'Voodoo Doll' would imply, mine's fairly practical: reinforced brown leather cuirass, boots, and gloves, plus the bat mask built into the hooded orange undersuit. The only really sexy part is the fishnets, but come on, I've got great legs and they need to breathe. Between the mask, the color scheme, and the glide flaps, I actually do a decent job of looking like a giant fruit bat, which for some reason is still what I'm going for.

I slide down onto the bench along the wall of the bank where Omar's truck's set up, then immediately roll my eyes.

"Ugh, look at this."

"What?"

I hold up the magazine someone left sitting on the bench. " _Alpha_. Fucking Blizzard and Blaze did another spread, and I mean that literally. So ridiculous."

Tish chuckles into her gyro. "Yeah, I can't imagine the readers of a men's magazine wanting to watch two conventionally hot white chicks take each other's clothes off..."

"You know what I think?" I say, gesturing with my sandwich. "I think it's an act."

"Hm? What's an act?"

"Their whole thing. Their whole 'lesbo sluts, can't keep our hands off each other' thing. I bet it's all fake. I bet it's just like t.A.T.u., I bet they're two homophobic straight girls and some PR guy told them this was the easiest way to get famous. Like having matching superpowers wasn't on the nose enough."

"Oh, come on, Foxy, that's the world we live in: superpowers are all right, but if a girl really wants to get ahead the best power to have is still a push-up bra."

"Ugh. Yeah, rub it in."

Tish laughs, which just makes them jiggle where they stick out of her green corset-bodice thing. "Well, I don't know about Blaze...but I can tell you Blizzard sure as hell ain't straight."

I blink. "What? How would you know?"

She grins what might be the shit-eatingest grin I've ever seen. "Let's just say they haven't always been partners and leave it at that."

My eyes go wide and I practically choke on my pita. "You bitch. This is not fair. Tell me."

Tish shakes her head, a gleam in her eyes. Not literally, as in the green one she gets when she uses her powers. With superheroes, you have to specify. "Uh-uh, sorry girl, a lady doesn't spend all night scissoring and getting her pussy licked after a charity fundraiser three years ago and tell. You'll just have to take my word for it." I scowl and flick the end of my gyro at her, landing a stray drop of tzatziki on her green corset-bodice thing. She tips her head as she brushes it off. "You know they say something like 60% of supers are LGBT. Villains, too."

I momentarily stop chewing. "No shit?"

"Yeah, something to do with secret identities and navigating public and private personas."

"Huh."

She nods, then shrugs. "Course the rest are entitled white fuckboys with too much time on their hands."

I laugh. "Yeah, I'd say that sounds about right."

"Well, I gotta get back to work. Remember, league meetup Thursday."

"Yeah, see you there. Good luck."

Tish winks, her eyes flash green, and tendrils of light spring from her hands to propel her into the air. I just shake my head and go back to my pita.

"So are you picking me up a gyro, or what?" my earpiece says, and I choke halfway through a bite.

"Trevor? Were you listening the whole time?"

"Well I mean I was just monitoring at first, but then I heard 'lesbo sluts' and that kind of caught my attention. And you're full of shit too, their sex tape got leaked and they were totally into it. Like, tongue deep in each other. Everybody who sees it says it's real."

I swallow. "Okay, one: it didn't get leaked. I guaran-fucking-tee you they leaked it for the publicity. And two: don't leave the line open because it costs money and it's fucking creepy as hell."

"And three you want me to send you the link."

My cheeks heat up. "I mean...it's your fault, now you got me curious about whether it's real or not."

"Uh-huh. See you back at the belfry, boss."

I sigh, down the last bite of my gyro, wave goodbye to Omar, and pull out my grapple. One quick sweep of the main streets, then I'll head home.

* * *

I don't really have a superhero lair or hideout or anything. What I do have is a dead-drop in the belltower of the abandoned church a couple blocks from my apartment building; I go up, change into my costume, leave my clothes there in a backpack, then when I'm done for the night I change back and take my gear home in the bag. It's probably not necessary—I don't have a nemesis, and I'm not really a big enough deal for anyone to want to target me—but, well, I guess the way things went with Roger left me a little paranoid.

Roger North, my adoptive father, also known as the Echo. We made quite the team back in Chicago. Of course, that was before a bunch of skinheads beat him to death behind a gay bar on his night off and left me an orphan again. That was ten years ago, when I was seventeen, but I guess some things leave a mark.

I live on the fifth floor of a seven-story apartment building that I think used to be a hotel back in the day. Trevor lives in the apartment down the hall from mine, the one I knock on the door of before I head back to mine for the night. Morning, whatever. It takes a few seconds, but eventually it cracks open far enough for me to see the chain and Trevor's stringy brown hair and beard.

"You got my gyro?"

"Yeah." I stick the foil-wrapped sandwich through the gap, and he grabs it.

"Cool. I emailed you the link. Also I sent you some police band stuff. Not, you know, emergency, but like upcoming investigations. Stuff you might want to be on the lookout for."

"Nice, thanks."

"Yeah, whatever, happy to help, right?"

The Grand Champions are too small to provide or vet individual support staff, which is good, because there's no way in hell Trevor would ever pass a background check. He used to work in IT, before he got a job working on the security system in the Fifth Precinct and set up a tap on the security system in the female officers' locker room. That got him sex offender status and a few years probation, but aside from that and the total lack of social skills he's not that bad. I'm not even that worried about him spying on me in the shower or whatever, since the aforementioned lack of social skills mean he's made no secret of how unattractive he finds me: 'I mean, you're kinda too short, and you're way too muscly, and your tits aren't that big...what, Jesus, I'm just being honest!' So there's that.

"Get some sleep."

"Yeah, you too."

He shuts his door, and I head to mine. It's not a great apartment, but it's clean-ish and safe-ish and I hardly spend any time here anyway except when I'm asleep. Speaking of, as soon as I'm inside I hang up my costume in the secret compartment in the back of the wardrobe, throw on a big t-shirt, brush my teeth, and fall into bed. I'd normally be out later, but I want to spend some time in the daylight this week. I think I might be Vitamin D deficient, not enough sun, that's why I've been so...I don't know.

Whatever. Sleep now. Save the world tomorrow.


	3. ...and the Public Eye

I don't really have a day job. That's unusual for a minor leaguer; most of us are your basic crimefighter-by-night-mild-mannered-alter-ego-by-day, but like I said Roger's money and the results of my Olympic career, conservatively invested, let me squeak by. If I combined them with work I could probably live a less meager existence but, well...this is all I've ever really wanted to do. I know that sounds corny, like I'm some little kid with a pillowcase cape tied around her shoulders, but it's true; I even got into gymnastics because flipping around and spinning through the air made me feel like a superhero. And as happy a day as it was getting adopted, the day Roger finally told me who he really was...that was the best day of my life.

So that means my days, or rather my afternoons since I sleep from about sunrise to twelve, tend to be taken up by superhero stuff: training, criminal investigation, working on gear...and of course, social media.

It probably sounds kind of vapid when you put it like that, but being known and respected as a hero isn't just a vanity thing. The difference between "Never heard of you" and "Oh shit, I've heard of you!" can be whether a guy pointing a gun at you decides to fire it or beg for mercy. Now granted I'm not a cleavage-y blonde attention-and-also-literal whore like certain other superheroines, so I actually have to put some thought into my media presence. Flying Fox has an official Twitter, Instagram, a Superseeker account, a Tumblr, a Facebook group—although those last two are run by a very nice and only slightly obsessive fan named Connie—and everything. Technically I could let Trevor handle them, but...fuck no. Besides, it's kind of nice seeing people talk about how I'm actually make a difference in their lives.

_@RealFlyingFox forever! She's my fave superhero! You go girl #SuperSaturday_

_Is #FlyingFox wearing a new costume? When's she going to get one that shows her tits?_

_Check out these pics! She should call herself Flying Cameltoe!_

Or, you know, whatever. You know what else days are good for? Sewing a layer of padding into the crotch of my suit.

* * *

Assuming there are no league- or police scanner-based emergency calls—bank robberies, natural disasters, cops or other supers requesting assistance, and so on—my work day starts around sunset. That's earlier than a lot of nightcrawlers—which is to say most minor-league and indie heroes—start their patrols, but like I said I don't have a day job. Besides, I like to be out when there are people around, just to watch the hustle and bustle of city life and also okay maybe occasionally show off a little.

I don't know if what Tish said about the number of queer supers is right, but gay or straight we're definitely all exhibitionists; hero or villain, kid-friendly animal suit or slutty Halloween costume, you don't go out in public wearing a brightly-colored, attention-getting skintight outfit unless you want people to look. And yeah, when I see people waving or screaming "Omigod that's Flying Fox!" then you're damn right I'm gonna strike a pose or do a stunt. Branding, remember?

"Omigod, that's Flying Fox!"

I'm swinging down Townsend Boulevard when the excited, high-pitched voice catches my ears. I look ahead to see a trio of young women—college girls, probably, if they're out here this time of night—who were walking down the sidewalk bouncing and waving their arms. I use my flaps to break my momentum and simultaneously give them the whole bat silhouette; one of the two blondes takes a picture. As I swing to a stop I flip upside down, slipping the grapple gun back in its holster and hanging like a bat. People fucking _LOVE_ that one.

The girls laugh as I do it, and I try to remind myself that I'm a cool, dangerous creature of the night and not just an awkward lesbian who would have killed to have girls like this pay attention to me in high school. "How are you girls doing tonight?"

"Omigod, you're a real superhero," says the one brunette. "This is so cool!"

The brunette and the blonde who took the picture shove the other blonde forward. She looks like a sorority girl, all ponytail and preppy polo and perfect smile and pink lipstick and fuck just kill me now. She smiles nervously, playing with her hair in a way that I am entirely too gay to deal with.

"Um...are you really a lesbian?"

Fuck, a girl who looks like this asking me a question like that brings up some bad high school shit. I try to play it off with a smirk. "Well, we've all got at least one superpower, that's mine."

"Omigod I told you!" the other blonde whispers to the brunette. The other other blonde—I mean, the one in front of me, let's call her Blonde A—bites her lip, which Jesus fucking Christ.

"Um...I was wondering if…there's kind of a...thing I've always wanted to..." She looks back at her friends for encouragement, and all three of them laugh nervously. She leans in and whispers in my ear, and my eyes practically bug out of my skull. I find her eyes when she pulls back to see if she's serious, and _holy fuck she's serious_.

I swallow and hope my voice sounds rough and dangerous instead of barely able to form words. "Well...I'm always happy to do a service for the people…" Blonde A's eyes glow like she just got a puppy for Christmas, and her friends squeal. With no further warning her hands grip the bottom of my mask, and mine immediately come up to catch her wrists. "Careful."

"Relax," she murmurs as her lips move in, "the mask's the hottest part." And just like that, her lips are devouring mine.

When she whispered "Did you ever see that Spider-Man movie?" I just figured she meant a short, chaste upside-down kiss just so she could tell her friends she did it, not... _everything_. Not mouths open, sucking on my tongue, if-I-were-right-side-up-we'd-probably-be-dry-humping-each-other making out. Now her friends are whooping, she's sighing these pleasured sighs into my mouth, and I'm just trying to give as good as I'm getting without crossing the lines that are all over this like a fucking road map. So let's just say it's a fucking amazing kiss that makes me feel like I'm a fumbling, awkward teenager drunkenly making out with her Croatian counterpart after the medals ceremony all over again. Then she pulls back, lets out one last sigh, and it's over.

"Oh. My. God." Oh right. Shit. I turn my head, blushing and pursing my lips just like Blonde A as Blonde B and the brunette stare in awe. Blonde B still has her phone out, and welp, guess this is going to be all over the internet tomorrow. I'm sure Trevor won't be an asshole about that.

"That was like the hottest thing I've ever seen!" the brunette squeals. Then she bites her lip too. "Do you think I could maybe, um…"

I'm saved from my ensuing heart attack by the gunshot that pierces the night and makes the girls jump and shriek. It was hard to tell with the echo, but I think that was within a few blocks of here. I give them a parting dashing smile, I hope. "Sorry, ladies. Duty calls!"

I reel in the line, shooting back up to the roof as the girls bounce and wave. Blonde A shouts "Call me!" and her friends laugh. As I clear the rooftop, I let out a shaky breath. Just as well I have work to do, because I'm pretty sure I was about to pass out from all the blood rushing to my...um...head.

* * *

The gunshot turned out to be some wannabe teen thug trying to show off for his friends: everyone was rattled, no one was hurt, one of them kept flirting with me and trying to touch my butt. So business as usual. The rest of the night's mostly quiet patrols, which happens quite a bit. Having a superhero in the neighborhood is kind of like having a big dog or a sign for a security system company on your lawn; just the visibility can help stop trouble before it starts.

So I watch the sunrise from on top of the old church, change back into my civvies, and head home. When I do, Trevor actually sticks his head out the door at the sound of my footsteps. "Hey, uh...there's a video going viral of you Spider-Man-kissing the hottest girl I've ever seen—is that real?"

I groan.


	4. ...and the Sunday Revolution

_OMG this is so sexy!_

_This is the textbook definition of obscene material. I hope they finally ban you for posting this sick filth._

_this is so fake not every superhero has to be a dyke learn to google cucktards!!!_

_Is this service available to anyone who lives in Overton or is there a signal you have to light? Asking for a friend <.< *thirsty gay blush*_

So yeah. By the time I wake up and check social media it's about one quarter outrage about superheroes corrupting our youth, one quarter guys talking about how they wish I was hanging a few feet lower, one quarter people derailing the thread with politics, and one quarter young queer girls losing their goddamn minds. So I mean, I'll take it.

Anyway, it's Sunday, which means brunch with the girls. I mean, of the five of us four are Grand Champions on the night shift, so it actually takes place around two in the afternoon, but whatever, it's become a weekly thing for me, Tish, Clara (aka Cowgirl), Jenna (aka Spiderbite), and Jenna's sister Morgan (aka Mo). We go to Jenna and Morgan's house, sit around and chat and have coffee and beer and fruit and French fries, so I guess it's not what you'd call a traditional brunch but it's a nice island of being a regular woman in a life of not.

I mean, we still mostly talk about superhero stuff, but I'll take what I can get.

"I mean, I think he just thought 'Well I'm a reptile-man now, so human rules don't apply to me,' but I'm like 'Dude, you still have a dick and literally everyone can see it.'" That would be Clara, aka The Cowgirl. Good with ropes and grappling, has a really thick fake Texas accent she puts on whenever she's in costume. She's good people. We all laugh.

"Villain going away for indecent exposure? Stranger things have happened."

Tish turns to me with an evil grin. "Speaking of indecent exposure…"

I groan and take a swig of my beer while the others laugh. "Yeah yeah, okay, you've all seen the video, get it out of your system."

"Well I think it's sweet," Clara coos, but Jenna tilts her head.

"What video?"

"Oh, it's just her and some fangirl doing the upside-down kiss from Spider-Man," Tish says with a dismissive hand wave. "It's cute."

Jenna's eyes go wide. "Wait, wait...Rosie, are you gay?"

I smile nervously; Jenna's always seemed cool, if a little aloof, but that isn't always a fun question. "Um, last time I checked." I chuckle nervously, and Morgan shoots me an encouraging-slash-cringing smile.

Jenna frowns. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like...I just had no idea!"

Tish snorts. "Seriously? You had no idea that this bitch," she gestures grandly at the short, shaggy hair, the muscles, the leather jacket, "was a lesbian?"

Jenna's pale cheeks burn. "Well I...I didn't want to stereotype! Usually my gaydar's really good!"

Morgan practically spits out her coffee. "Oh please! The only reason you knew I was gay was that you walked in on me with Mariah!" I try not to snicker as Jenna's eyes go wide.

"Wait...then am I the only one here who's straight?"

Tish shrugs, while Clara turns bright red. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Jenna snorts. "Oh come on! Like you and your so-called 'nemesis' just happen to keep tying each other up and wrestling each other half naked and—"

"That's not what...shut up!"

I take a drink to hide my smile. Clara has an obsessive personal nemesis who calls herself _Reverse_ Cowgirl. No, really.

Before things can degenerate further, all our cell phone alarms go off. We share a look as we pull them out, and Jenna sighs. "Well, shit. Looks like we have to go to work."

I pull up the tracker app the Champs use to find a network-wide alert flashing at the top of the screen:

_RIOTS AT SUPERSTARS GAME, PSYCHOACTIVE COMPOUND FOUND IN FRENCH FRY SALT_

_DOC HOLIDAY SUSPECTED, STILL AT LARGE_

_ALL AVAILABLE HEROES REQUESTED TO CONTAIN RIOTERS_

We're already out of our seats.

"Well, shit. See you guys there, I guess. Sorry, Mo."

"Doc Holiday? Is today a holiday? What is today?"

"The fourteenth."

"Why French fr...oh goddammit, it's Bastille Day!"

"Ugh, why couldn't he have attacked on the Fourth of July like any respectable supervillain?"

"I swear to God, I hate that hipster douchebag so much…"

* * *

It takes me about ten minutes to get home, then another fifteen to get out to Empire Field once I'm geared up. Fortunately, there's still plenty of chaos waiting for me when I get there.

I meet up with a dozen or so Grand Champions on the third base line led by Freedom Eagle (formerly American Eagle, before the cease-and-desist from the clothing company), one of the founding members. Apparently the crowds have managed to stymie the cops by actually tearing up the bleachers and forming barricades on the infield, where they're currently chanting "Liberté, egalité, fraternité" over and over again. I don't know if there was some subliminal messaging over the PA or if somehow the urge to reenact the French Revolution was in the fries themselves, but either way it's actually kind of impressive.

Still, we should probably get in there before they start guillotining people.

We aren't the only heroes there, even if the major leagues are conspicuously absent; maybe they're off hunting Doc Holiday, or maybe they're taking their time to coordinate their response because they know losers like us will be there to do the grunt work. Either way, the Champs contingent is mostly just following the cops' lead, which means letting the heroes with the right powers for the job go in first.

In this case, that means Powerlass and Dynamo—who, holy shit, in terms of lesbian supercouples how are they not more popular than fucking Blizzard and Blaze, and by the way they're even nicer in person—going in to clear out the barricades. Between super strength and telekinesis they're able to tear down the bleachers without hurting anyone, which gives the rest of us an opening to rush the crowd in a wedge, breaking the mass of a thousand ersatz French revolutionaries into more manageable scattered groups. I spend the next hour stalking, tackling, and zip-tying people, including an eight-year-old boy who screams that he's going to do to me what he did to Marie Antoinette. So that's fun.

Anyway, we're just about done when _they_ finally show up.

Superior City is home to three 'major' superhero leagues. That's abnormally high for a city this size, but something about SC has always attracted superheroes. Anyway there are the World Wardens, who as the name suggests focus more on global and cosmic threats and just happen to be headquartered here; the Lions of Justice, who are only considered a major league because of the fame of some of their founding members and whose main distinction from the Grand Champions is their PR budget; and then, of course, there are the Centurions.

The Centurions are _the_ Superior City supergroup: a well-oiled publicity machine that you can't even hate because they do constantly save the Great Lakes region from supervillain attacks. Some of the most famous heroes in the country are or were Centurions: Weatherman, Earth Angel, Captain Crimson, Gladiatrix, the Snow Leopard, and yes, Blizzard and fucking Blaze. I'm not surprised they're here, but I'm also not surprised they showed up late to take the credit.

They fly in from above, eight big names, a few of whom I don't think can actually fly; there's a lot of speculation that they might have some kind of antigravity tech built into their suits courtesy of Doctor Lazarus, but no one outside the Centurions knows for sure. Anyway it's him, Outlast, Warhorse, Lightstorm, Earth Angel, the Snow Leopard, and of course Weatherman and Weathergirl. Weatherman raises his hands and lets out a blast of wind like a helicopter's landing, pushing all the remaining rioters—and most of the rest of us—down into the grass. I hear camera flashes; someone must have decided to start letting the press in. Perfect timing.

Weatherman and Weathergirl break off to talk to the cops and the reporters, while the rest get busy. Anyway, as Weatherman strikes his silver-templed, square-jawed hero pose and talks about how Doctor Lazarus is already working on a cure and the rest of their team is closing in on Doc Holiday as we speak and Weathergirl hangs on his arm and smiles, I start hauling people up to get them separated for the paramedics. I'm having trouble with a big guy who's still squirming and muttering about tyranny, when suddenly he gets a lot easier to lift. I look past him, and Earth Angel winks at me. _Holy shit_.

Earth Angel, real name Britney Colfax, went by Teen Angel back when it was still applicable and made her name as Devilboy's partner in teen heartthrobdom. I had a poster of her on my bedroom wall a decade ago, one I may or may not have looked at sometimes when I was...that's not important.

At least, I don't think it's important until she slides closer to me and says "You're the Flying Fox, right?"

I swallow. _Holy shit, Rosie, your teenage crush and the entire reason you've got such a thing for blondes is talking to you! Fucking get ahold of yourself!_ "Um...it's just 'Flying Fox,' actually."

Smooth.

"Sorry, I was just curious: are you the same Flying Fox who used to sidekick for the Echo?"

"Um...yes..."

Her eyes light up. Again, not literally, since with superheroes you have to specify, but they go from big and blue to bigger and bluer. "Wow. I'm sorry, I just have to say...he was my favorite superhero growing up! He's the whole reason I decided to use my powers instead of hiding them, and he was the reason I decided to come out of the closet!"

Okay, Rosie, calm down. You knew that; she came out as bi years ago, and there were all those thinkpieces about how it symbolized her fall from the 'pure, good girl' she was as a teenager. You can stop swallowing your tongue.

I clear my throat. "Um, yeah, me too."

She giggles, then licks her lips, which is like a one-two punch right in the libido. Down, girl! There's cameras everywhere and there's already been one viral video of you not being able to control yourself around a pretty girl this week!

"Hey, I don't want to be weird, but...would you mind hanging around after so we can talk? I mean, we can get coffee, or…"

I have to bite down on my tongue to keep myself from moaning _"Oh my god yes thank you mistress"_ and just nod. She beams—again not literally, although from the amount of damage it did to me she might as well have.

"Great! Meet me on top of the luxury boxes?"

"Okay."

"Cool! Well, back to work!"

And just like that she flounces off, Weatherman still bloviating about what a great city this is and how proud the Centurions are to stand in its defense and an old woman biting the heel of my boot and calling me a traitor to the people. I barely even notice.


	5. ...and the Girl

By the time things are under control enough that we're not needed anymore the sun's almost down. I grapple up to the roof of the building that holds the skyboxes to find Earth Angel sitting there, smiling. Holy shit, I almost can't believe she actually showed up. She tilts her head. "You ready to go?"

I nod dumbly, then clear my throat. "Won't, um, won't the Centurions miss you?"

"Nah, we're not debriefing until tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, but I thought the PR department kept you all in your boxes when you were off duty." Holy shit, sassy flirting? Where did that come from? Thankfully, she laughs.

"Well they'll just have to deal with my resale value taking a hit. They should just be glad I'm taking you out for coffee and not a drink."

"Are you allowed to drink in uniform?"

"No." She grins. "But it would hardly be the first time I did something in this costume I wasn't supposed to."

Holy shit. My throat is suddenly very, very dry. I swallow. "I thought you were supposed to be an angel."

She laughs. "The only thing you have to do to be an angel…" She unfurls herself, long, bare legs pushing straight and booted feet floating up off the roof. "Is fly." As I'm standing there speechless, she lazily spins in the air and points to the bank on 4th, that weird lightning-rod thing on top silhouetted against the setting sun. "I happen to know there's a Starbucks on that block. Last one there pays!"

When she floats off, I snap out of it. With a mantra running through my head of _holy shit holy shit this is really happening_ , I pull out my grapple, drop into position, and leap.

* * *

She lets me win. I'm not going to rule out that I could have won in a fair race, since I don't actually know her top speed or how maneuverable she is at low altitudes, but there's very little to grapple onto out by the stadium so there's no excuse for her not to have an insurmountable lead by the time we hit downtown. Not that it matters; I'm fine with doing anything she wants to let me do.

We perch on top of that wrought iron mini-Eiffel Tower thing on top of the bank, drinking our lattes and talking about my dad. I mean, I don't tell her he was my dad, because even after everything that happened his identity never went public and he would have wanted it that way. But we talk about the Echo.

"What was he really like? I mean, out of the costume?"

I roll my cup between my hands, images filling my head. Ten to seventeen: the best years of my life. "Quiet. Kind of...sad. But then...just when you were feeling sorry for him, or about to ask what was wrong, he'd blindside you with the stupidest joke you'd ever heard. He was just...whatever he had going on inside, he channeled into helping people. I learned that from watching him."

"You loved him."

"I think he was the first person I ever really loved."

"But...I mean, he never…" I look toward her in confusion, and when I see the guarded look in her eyes my stomach turns.

"What? No, Jesus!"

"Okay, sorry! I just...child sidekicks. You hear...stories."

"Yeah well, he was just as gay as I am, so…"

"Sorry. So...he really was gay? I mean, I know he supported gay rights, like before it was cool, and there were rumors, but…"

"Yeah, he was. I think it was part of what made him so sad, you know? He was older, he'd internalized a lot of stuff. But he wanted to make sure I never went through that."

She bites her lip. "Do you know...I mean, there are all these rumors, but...how did he die?"

I frown. I guess that's one of the benefits of having a secret identity. Roger North died bleeding and begging on the concrete because he was desperate and lonely and offered to suck the wrong guy's cock. But the Echo, well...he disappeared into the night, like he always did, and just never came back out.

I swallow. "The same way he lived. Fighting evil."

I start when I feel the warmth of Earth Angel's hand on mine. When I look up, her eyes are on mine, and her face is so close. "I'm sorry," she mutters, "I shouldn't have asked you that."

"It's fine," I sniff. Apparently at some point I started crying. "I want people to know. That he was gay, and good, and that he never gave up on me or anyone else."

Her hand squeezes mine. Her lips part, so close, she leans in… "Why don't I give you a ride home?"

I blink. "Huh? Wait, you mean...really?"

She shrugs breezily. "Sure, why not? You're obviously not afraid of heights, so…"

"Yes!" I blush. "I mean...if you really don't mind, I guess…"

She grins, lets go of my hand, and unfurls her legs again. "Stand in front of me." I carefully clamber up on the tower's narrow ledge with my back to her. I almost die when her arms wrap around my waist and her body pressed against my back. "Hold on tight," she breathes against my neck. I shiver, and take her hands in mine. "Tip forward."

I do, and gravity takes hold, and we're falling, and...and then we're not. We're floating. We drift out from the edge of the building, over the street and the end of rush hour traffic grinding away twenty stories below. "Where to, Flying Fox?" she says in my ear. I turn my head closer to her.

"There's a church on the corner of 21st and Townsend. It's...kind of my staging area."

"All right. Buckle up."

We turn until we're facing in the direction of the traffic flow, and I hear the air start to hum around us, and just like that we're not floating.

We're flying.

We start out slow, almost like when I'm free-gliding at high altitude, making spirals in the air as the city spins out below us. But then she starts to pick up speed, diving between buildings and rolling and climbing and just getting faster and faster. I can't help letting out a whoop of unbridled ecstasy that's immediately swallowed by the wind rushing past us. "Do you like it?" she shouts in my ear, and I squeeze her hands tighter. She laughs. "Now for the best part!"

She lets go.

I scream and throw out my arms, but...I'm not falling. Not even on the flaps, I'm...im still flying! How is that possible?

"Don't tell anyone!" I roll over in mid-air to find Earth Angel grinning at me. "I can't actually fly! But what I can do is generate a field that lets everything inside it fly! Why don't you steer for a while?" My eyes go wider as her smile does the same. "Really! I'll go where you go!"

Heart pounding, I spin back toward the ground, experimentally angling my gliders to put us between the tall, tightly-packed skyscrapers that line Market Street. Earth Angel turns with me and we shoot between them, windows rushing past in a flickering pattern of dark and lighted rooms. We're going too fast to see if there's anyone watching from those windows, awed or excited or even just shaking their heads and smiling as we fly past, but I hope there is.

I tip my head back and we rise, spiraling through the night air until the windows give way to stars. There's a second of vertigo until I feel the gentle pressure of Earth Angel's hand on my back. When I'm right-side-up again, I catch sight of the church belfry in the distance and bend my wings that way. By the time we glide in to land under the cover of the empty bell tower, I'm crying again.

As I lean back against the stone and pull up my mask and hood, Earth Angel frowns at me. "Are you okay?"

I laugh. "I...I'm fine. I just...flying. I've always dreamed about what it would be like, it's the whole reason I…" I shake my head as Earth Angel steps closer. I sound like an idiot.

Only she's not looking at me like I'm an idiot. My breath hitches as she steps into my body, her hand caressing my cheek and her thumb brushing back the tear stains. "God, you're so beautiful…"

I tip my head up, lips parted, breath shuddering and eyelids heavy. She leans down and kisses me.

It's not like the kiss with Blonde A; it's softer, cleaner, I'd almost call it more innocent if not for the way it makes the entire lower half of my body melt.

Not literally. With superheroes you have to specify.

There's a gentle little pop when she pulls her lips back from mine, then just the sound of me trying to control my breathing. She licks her lips, and I almost die. "I have a confession to make," she breathes, and I swallow.

"Well we...are in church," I manage to stammer out, and she actually smiles, just a little.

"I didn't ask you out just to talk about the Echo…"

I clear my throat. "I, um...kind of figured that out."

She licks her lips. Her hand's on my hip, fingertips tingly and warm where she touches me. "We could just...leave it with a good night kiss and an 'I'll call you.' If you want."

I spend a few seconds gobsmacked by 'I'll call you' before the rest of what she said gets through to me and my heart jumps into my throat. "Does...does that mean we could also...not?"

She smirks, and I bite down on my cheek; those big blue eyes, lit by the glow of the city from below, look hungry. She grabs my hips more firmly, pulls me in, and kisses me again. This time is like the kiss with Blonde A, only I'm not even trying to hold myself back; as her hands slide around behind me mine rise up the glittery white feathers of the skimpy costume I've been trying so hard not to stare at all day, and touching her curves for the first time is like flying all over again.

"I don't normally do this," she breathes against my lips, and I hum.

"Neither do I."

"I just really, really like you."

"I really like you too," I gasp as her lips latch onto my neck. Her fingers are trailing up the side of my armor, to the zipper that holds it in place. She pulls back to look in my eyes; hers are so dilated they're practically black.

"How much do you—"

"Everything," I groan as I guide her fingers to the zipper. "Everything."

And well, suffice it to say that's exactly what we do.

* * *

Okay, so not to overshare but...I haven't had sex in a while. And I mean a while. I mean, superheroing is a busy life, and sure you do the occasional flirting banter with a BDSM-themed supervillainess or whatever or have some girl you save from a mugger talk about how grateful she is hint-hint, but no respectable super actually takes advantage of that. Most heroes who do have a significant other met them through their day job or…well, they date other heroes. And it's not that I've never thought about that—hell, I had a bit of a crush on Tish back when we first met—but from what I've seen it always seems to get complicated in a hurry.

My point is... _holy shit I'd forgotten how much I love sex_. How much I love women: everything about them, every inch of their bodies, the way they taste and smell and the noises they make and the things they can do to me. Being with Earth Angel is like waking up.

When it's over, when we're momentarily sated and we're lying there naked to the cool night air, panting and sweating on the warped wooden floor of the bell tower with our costumes spread out under us, she rolls on top of me and kisses me. "Flying Fox," she murmurs. "Holy shit, you weren't kidding."

I smile. "Call me Rosie."

She leans in and kisses me again. "Call me Angel."


	6. ...and the Honeymoon

I sleep in. After Angel and I exchanged phone numbers and she headed home, I had an uneventful night's patrol mostly spent replaying the bell tower scene over and over again in my head. I could almost be worried; I've always had it bad for Angel, and now that my wildest teenage fantasy has come true it would be very easy to let it take over my entire life. But you know what? Screw it. I sleep in, I lie around in bed daydreaming about having her wake up next to me, and I make time in my social media routine to check out hers, because if this is really happening I'm gonna live the fuck out of it.

Around three my phone buzzes; it's her.

_You up? I know you work nights. I didn't want to wake you up :P_

I smile. _XD What's up_

_Bored. Disaster relief training all day. Needed a break_

_Wow training days. You guys are so professional_

_Busy week. Photo shoots all day tomorrow and Wed. Rather see you tho last night was amazing!_

I bite my lip. _Don't worry I'm sure I can do better than just amazing ;)_

_Can you come by the Colosseum on Thursday? Get the tour and maybe spend the night?_

My eyes go wide. She's inviting me to the Centurions' headquarters?

_Omg yes!!!_   
_Wait can't I have a league meeting Thursday. Friday?_

_K. Bring full gear!_

_Kinky ;)_

_You have no idea XP_

I set my phone down with a grin. Holy shit. Can this morning get any better? I pull up my Superseeker page and idly scroll through the mentions.

_FLYING FUX: A XXX PARODY!!!_   
_Our fans voted and our next Supersluts video will be based on viral sensation Flying Fox from Superior City. Expect hot girl-on-girl action and upside-down super-69. Now casting!_

Oh for fuck's...no. No, apparently it can only get worse.

* * *

"They say who's gonna play you?"

I groan. Trevor is being expectedly unhelpful about the whole thing. I'm out on patrol early to take my mind off it—and to keep myself from going crazy waiting for my date with Angel—and he's not exactly making that easy.

"Who cares? You know it's gonna be some white girl with big tits. Those guys are trash."

"Hey, it's a solid business model: make low-budget porn about superheroines who are big enough to get press but not big enough to sue."

"You're defending them? Shouldn't you be offering to crash their site for me or something?"

"Fuck no. You don't fuck with porn sites, those motherfuckers take cybersecurity seriously. Look, most people will never even hear about it, and everyone else will forget it in a week. Calm down."

"Great. Thanks."

"Hey, maybe this'll make you feel better; just got a hit that someone's robbing the Caper Charter Savings and Loan at 23rd and Olivier."

I skid to a stop on the rooftop of a convenience store. "Wait. A daylight bank robbery? Oh my god, that's adorable!"

"Right? Perp appears to be in costume, but the cops can't ID him. You wanna do some recon?"

"Newbie supervillain trying to make a name for himself? Fuck yeah I do!"

I wheel around toward 23rd and Olivier. Looks like today's back on track!

* * *

On checking in with the cops, I learned that there was one perpetrator, apparently armed, holding about ten hostages, and that as usual they were more than willing to let a league-affiliated and insured hero step in to do what they couldn't. In this case, grapple up to the high windows around the side of the bank and sneak in for some reconnaissance.

"That's right, you drips! All of it! All the cash! And don't even think about trying to slip in one of those dye packs...I think you'll find that dye only obeys me!" I stare down in something not unlike awe as the scrawny, balding white guy down below in the spray-painted football pads and swim goggles stands on top of the loan officer's desk, waving a big squirt gun back and forth in each hand as the hostages huddle on the floor. Is this guy for real? "You've already seen an example of my power!" He gestures at the security guard lying against the wall, cradling his arm. I can't see what happened to him, but he appears to be in pain but not seriously injured. "Soon, all Superior City will cower in fear before the might of Squirt!"

Oh my god you have got to be fucking kidding me. That's it, he has no backup and limited ability to endanger the hostages. I'm ending this.

"Wait. Squirt?" He and most of the hostages turn to find me perched in the window, smirking. "As in the soda, or the kind of female orgasm I guarantee you're never gonna cause?"

He sneers. "Fox Girl! I hoped you'd come! Now my claim to fame will include your death!"

He lifts one of the squirt guns and squeezes the trigger, the hostages shrieking and rolling out of the way as the stream falls short of the window by about two feet because it's a fucking squirt gun. An acrid smell hits my nose, and I look down to see a strip of the wallpaper burning. Oh. It's a squirt gun full of acid. Shit.

I leap down, grapple in hand. My aim's better than his, the claws digging into the tank of his other gun. He holds it just tight enough to give me more momentum for my dive kick, then drops it when the claw tears the tank apart and coats his entire front in what smells like bleach. He has just enough time to start coughing and cursing when my boots hit him in the chest.

He goes down with a thud, groaning as I roll him over and zip tie his hands. "Anyone else hurt?" There are murmurs, but nothing that sounds like pain, so I turn to the security guard. "Let me see your arm." He holds it out, and I wince. "Peel the sleeve back and get to the bathroom, run it under cold water. Keep doing that for fifteen minutes or until the paramedics get in here."

The guard looks at me skeptically, thick mustache quirking. "Seriously? You just know that?"

I roll my eyes. "I swear to God, it's like every third supervillain thinks they invented acid." Plus, I mean, that's one of the benefits of growing up a sidekick; while your hero's off fighting the bad guy, you get to pick up surprisingly practical skills like first aid, bomb defusal, and delivering a baby. And yes, I've done all of those. One of the guys who was huddled near him helps the guard toward the bathroom, and I turn back to—Jesus I can't believe I'm even gonna use this name in my head—Squirt. He's not quite out cold, but he's also not particularly communicative, so I hoist him up by the collar, wrinkling my nose at the smell. "Okay, folks, you're all safe. The cops'll take care of you, and hopefully you'll all have a cool story to tell about how you met a supervillain who I'm pretty sure no one's ever gonna hear about again." There are a few chuckles, and a few people have their phones out. I'm used to more of a reaction, but to be fair the bleach smell is kind of killing the mood. "Stay put. The cops are on their way."

Outside the crowd of police all take aim when the door opens, then relax when I march our villain du jour outside. The female officer who's calling the shots takes a step forward. She's cute, kind of futch. Unfortunately I'm seeing someone. "All clear. There's a security guard with acid burns in the bathroom, everybody else is fine. Also be careful, there's a squirt gun full of acid lying around."

Her eyebrows rise. "A squirt gun?"

* * *

"Seriously?" Tish's eyebrows rise, and I shrug. "Damn, that's lame."

"Yeah, I almost want to feel bad for him, but...you know, it just won't come."

Tish hums thoughtfully. "Speaking of whether or not something's coming...who is she?"

I blink. "What? Who?"

She rolls her eyes. "The girl. The one you've been thinking about all week?"

I purse my lips. "I don't—"

"Oh please don't."

I sigh. "It's...Earth Angel."

"Is she...wait. The Centurion? The blonde pinup Centurion?"

"She's not a pinup…"

"They literally sell posters of her. In fact, didn't you say you used to—"

"Can I have everyone's attention please?"

Oh thank fucking God. We both look down from our seats to find Freedom Eagle and Windstorm standing in the aisle. Major leagues might have facilities with conference rooms or briefing rooms or...well, I guess I'll find out exactly what they have tomorrow, but when the minors need to host a team meeting, they either have to do it in their headquarters or—if, like the Grand Champions, their headquarters is just a rented office—book a space that does group reservations. In this case, the movie theater on Bellows.

"Okay, everyone, thanks for coming. We'll try to keep this short so you can all get back on the streets. First order of business is announcements: tomorrow is MVP's birthday, so happy birthday MVP!" We clap politely as the guy in the mixed sports pads a few rows above us waves. He's a sports-themed unpowered vigilante, seems like kind of a meathead but to be fair I don't know him all that well. "Also, congratulations to Flying Fox for taking down new supervillain Squirt, a name he apparently chose for himself voluntarily, but he did have an acid gun and a bank full of hostages, so congratulations Fox."

"Yeah she knows how to handle a squirt!" Alpha Dog shouts from somewhere behind me, and when I turn around he's waggling his tongue between his fingers suggestively. I roll my eyes: fucking supermen's rights activists. No idea why leagues still let them in; nine times out of ten they end up going villain anyway.

Freedom Eagle clears his throat. "Anyway. Your printout contains encounter data for this month, which is holding relatively steady. There's been a slight uptick in supervillain activity, but that happens every summer. Otherwise, things are pretty normal. Now, our main agenda item for tonight is that we've made some updates to the app. Windstorm?"

The petite woman in the rather old-fashioned blue and white spandex smiles and steps forward. She's another of the founding Champs: wind powers and a day job in IT. "Hey everybody. So, after that incident with Tortoiseshell, I've gone in and pushed an update to the tracker. Now when an incorrect PIN is entered five times in a row, the app locks down and transmits a network-wide GPS alarm under the assumption you're being held against your will. Please download as soon as possible, if you're worried about data the coffee shop next door has wifi. Thanks."

As Freedom Eagle opens the floor to questions and Clara immediately starts complaining about how people don't respect her territory, Tish leans back over. "So does Miss Your Literal Dream Girl have anything to do with why I'm covering your patrols tomorrow?"

I try not to smirk. "Maybe."

"As in…"

"As in _maybe_ I'm going on a tour of the Colosseum and then we're spending the night together!" Well, shit. I'm trying not to gush, really I am, but it's hard not to act like a lovestruck teenager when that's exactly what you feel like.

"You fucking bitch. You're selling out."

"Oh please."

"You are!"

"Just because I'm dating a Centurion doesn't mean they'll ask me to join. Besides, I don't even want to go major."

"Oh, you're so full of shit. Everyone wants to go major."

I roll my eyes. As strange as it might sound, fighting alien invasions and going up against world-domination-obsessed supervillain as a girl whose only powers are flipping and grappling hooks is a kind of stress I don't need in my life. I'm perfectly content hanging out with my friends, protecting my neighborhood from street crime and amateur masterminds, and being a medium-sized fish in a medium-sized pond.

I mean...mostly.


	7. ...and the Sleepover

Friday afternoon I leave Trevor at home—I offered his services to Tish for the night, but for some unfathomable reason she doesn't want him to have access to her cellphone—and head downtown. The Centurions' headquarters, the Colosseum, is a long, low, curvy glass building on the water; it used to be the old convention center before the league bought it and made some substantial renovations. They say it's one of the most secure, technologically advanced buildings in the city, and I believe it. I don't spend a lot of time downtown, so I've never really studied it up close before; I guess that's about to change. It has a landing pad on the roof, and that's where I glide down.

And that's where I immediately drop to my knees with my hands in the air as alarms blare and a booming voice shouts "YOU ARE TRESPASSING ON PRIVATE PROPERTY. GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR. ANY FURTHER ACTION WILL BE MET WITH MAXIMUM NON-LETHAL FORCE."

The message repeats four times at the exact same volume, an increasing number of laser designators targeting me from the turrets flipping out of the walls as I semi-successfully try not to panic, before the alarms peter out and the door across from the landing pad pops open. Angel stumbles through.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! You work here for long enough and you totally forget about the stupid security system! You can get up now, here, I got you a visitor's pass."

Angel helps me up, drops a lanyard around my neck, then grabs hold of my face and kisses me. When she pulls back, we're both laughing.

"You sure know how to make a girl feel welcome…"

Angel smiles, her nose crinkling adorably as she takes my hand. "Come on. I promised you a tour."

* * *

The Colosseum is, in a word, fucking mind-blowing. Two words. Three words, or a word and a hyphenate, or whatever, my point is that this place is insane. As a visitor I'm only allowed to see the recreational and training areas, which include: the massive swimming pool with an underwater obstacle course for their aquatic members; the modular training course with robotic target dummies and hologram projectors; the trophy room where they display all the alien technology and magical artifacts and giant robot parts that major leagues tend to collect like receipts; the dining hall with full-time cooks, and by the way we have her lunch/my breakfast there and holy shit the fries are amazing; and finally the lounge, full of chairs and couches looking out over the water. According to Angel as she lies across the couch with her feet in my lap, this is where everyone in the league comes when they just need a little peace and quiet.

"Fuck you, you bitch!"

Well, apparently not everyone. My head jerks toward the scream and the slamming door just in time to see...holy shit, that's Blizzard. She's wearing a baby tee and jeans instead of her signature blue slingshot bikini, but there's no mistaking that white hair and porn star body. She's also scowling and stomping past us in a way that would probably be intimidating if the girl had an intimidating bone in her body. The door she came in slams back open, and sure enough there's Blaze, golden hair and equally ridiculous figure wrapped in a tank top and capris. She looks more annoyed than anything.

"Jesus, are you on your period? Stop overreacting to everything!"

"I'm overreacting?" Blizzard spins around. Either they haven't noticed us or they don't care. "You're the one who freaked out just because I touched you!"

"I didn't freak out, I just said save it for the cameras!"

"Oh right, because unless someone's watching I'm not even allowed to spend time with you! You don't even think of me as a friend, do you?"

"Oh my god, don't be stupid, of course you're my friend! You just keep trying to make it weird!"

"I touched your hair! How is that weird?"

"You were like...running your fingers through it. I know you're dumb, but you have to be smart enough to remember this whole lesbo thing is acting, right?"

My eyes go wide. Holy shit I called it!

Blizzard, appropriately enough, freezes. Her scowl drops. "You're right. Why would anyone ever be friends with a stupid dyke like me for real?"

As Blizzard runs from the room, Blaze rolls her eyes with a frustrated groan and follows her. "Oh come on, you know I didn't mean it like that!" She trails after her pretend girlfriend, leaving an awkward silence in her wake. When I turn to my real girlfriend—and holy shit I have a real girlfriend!—Angel's shooting me a wincing smile.

"Yeah, that reminds me...there are a whole crap-ton of NDAs you have to sign."

"So they're really not together?"

"Honestly sometimes I forget people don't know. They're both just good actors. Blaze is just acting a little more than Blizzard is, which they never stop fighting about. Actually, pretty much every happy couple in the Centurions are miserable in real life. Except Lightstorm and Blue Heron, they're actually kind of adorable together, but yeah, B&B are kind of the worst."

"Wow, that's kind of sad. I mean I totally called it, but...it kinda sucks that one of the biggest lesbian power couples in the city is a lie."

Angel wiggles her feet on my lap. "Well, we'll just have to get even bigger, won't we?"

I smile.

* * *

I spend the night. That should go without saying. Without going into details, the sex is even better than the first time since we have a bed and all the time in the world and don't have to worry about roosting pigeons crapping on us. Not that that's ever happened in the belltower, but when I'm halfway out of my costume it's always in the back of my mind. Anyway, we stay up all night and sleep through the morning, which isn't a big change for me. It's just that this time I spent the night doing something even better than fighting crime.

We have a leisurely breakfast, a leisurely makeout session on the roof, and then I swing home, floating on the fucking clouds the whole way. When I get back to the apartment, Trevor's waiting to spring on me. Well, open his door when I walk by and stick his face out, but for Trevor that's the same thing. "You're back, what was it like, I want details. Not security details obviously. Unless you'd feel ethically comfortable with that and you learned something about their network setup—"

I snort. "It was...overwhelming. Very cutting edge, very swanky...oh, and I met Blizzard and Blaze."

His eyes go wide. "You what?"

"Not only that, I either got ironclad proof that they're not actually lovers, or I watched them absolutely go to town on each other in the Centurions' hot tub...but I'm under NDA so unfortunately I can't say which."

I shoot him a shit-eating grin, and Trevor groans. "I hate you so much, dude."

I chuckle as I head for my own door. I could get used to this.

By the time I get inside, there's a message on my phone. It's from Angel.

_Forgot to plan next date! Can't wait to see you again <3_

I'm grinning like a fucking idiot as I type.

_Me too. Hope we don't have to wait another week. Miss you already!_

_I'm on free patrol tomorrow. Want me on your night shift?_

_OMG yes please! I'll show you my neighborhood!_

_Great can't wait! Wish I was kissing you right now_

_Wish I was doing more than kissing you ;P_

Before I can see whether Angel likes sexting, my phone buzzes with a text from Tish.

_How did it go?_

_Great! I'm seeing her again tomorrow night!_

_Damn girl. Get your uhaul ready_

_I can't help it. I haven't felt this good in a long time_

_Well I'm happy for you_

My phone buzzes again, and I switch back to my conversation with Angel to find the following:

_But if you're not kissing me then what are you going to do with that tongue? ;)_

I bite my lip and fall back into my bed with a groan.


	8. ...and the Night Shift

Saturday's patrol and Sunday's brunch are both fairly uneventful, or maybe they just seem that way because I'm looking forward to Sunday night; I stop a couple drunk guys from breaking into a car owned by one of their exes, and Clara apparently had a run-in with Reverse Cowgirl that has her asking whether scissoring automatically makes you a lesbian even if you're both wearing clothes, but other than that I'm just buzzing with nerves waiting for the chance to show Angel my world.

Angel is that rarest of creatures: a superhero who never worked the streets. She was scouted right out of high school as soon as she went public with her powers, what with being a gorgeous eighteen-year-old blonde in a world where that combination is basically the most desirable thing ever. She went right into highly-publicized major league work alongside her "boyfriend" Devilboy, doing the occasional act of superheroism between much more frequent TV appearances and sponsorship deals. It wasn't until she got too old to be a teen heartthrob that her contract was picked up by the Centurions and she got to do some actual heroing.

All of which she tells me as we're flying lazily above Overton, and ninety percent of which I have to pretend is new information that I didn't already know from my time as an obsessive Teen Angel fangirl.

Still, listening to her talk about herself is nice. Soothing, combined with the flying.

"Help me! Somebody please!"

Welp, soothing's over. I turn to glide toward the source of the scream, and Angel follows hot on my heels. When we clear the last rooftop, it's to reveal a guy scurrying through the parking lot of the convenience store as two others follow him. With a little circling to get the right angle, I can glide down and land right between them. Angel, well, she gets there a little easier.

The two guys in pursuit I immediately peg as father and teenage son; the other guy is close to the son's age and already has a few open cuts on his tear-streaked, panicky face. The pursuers stop in surprise when we land, and I take the opening to hold out my hand. "Okay, everybody calm down! What's going on here?"

The father, a big guy with thinning hair and a collared shirt, turns his scowl on me. "Stay out of this! This piece of shit knocked up my daughter!" He leans around me to glare at the cowering boy. "My fifteen-year-old girl, you sick fuck!"

Angel and I look at each other, eyes wide, then turn back to find the kid shaking his head. "No, I didn't, I swear! I don't know who it was, she won't tell me, but come on, Bruce, you know me man!"

Bruce, the son, clenches his jaw. I can't even begin to read the conflict going on in his head. "Then why are you always with her, huh? Being all secretive and shit! How come you spend more time with my little sister than you do with me?"

"Because she's the only one who knows I'm gay!"

The boy's anguished declaration hangs in the ensuing silence like a fucking mushroom cloud. Bruce swallows. When he steps around me, I don't stop him. "What? Why didn't you tell me? We...we tell each other everything."

The boy blushes. "Because...if I told you, you'd…"

Bruce kneels down. "I'd what?"

"You...you'd wonder if I…"

Bruce leans down and kisses him. The parking lot is completely silent, except for something that almost sounds like a soft little "Aw" from Angel. When the boys pull apart, they're crying.

"Oh that is fucking it!" I spin around just in time for the father to try to blow past me. "Bruce! Get over here, you faggot!"

He pushes forward, and I push back, my hand planted firmly on his chest. "Sir, you're going to want to stand down."

He looks between me and Angel, then over us at the two boys, then snorts.

"Don't even think about coming home, Bruce. Do you hear me? I won't have a...a...living under my roof."

Bruce shakes his head. "Fuck you, Dad."

The father gives us all one more glare, then snorts again and stomps off toward a nearby car. The boys have some stuff to work out, so I buy them some time by turning to Angel. When I do, I find her frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"Did that feel...unsatisfying to you?"

I tilt my head. "Not really. What do you mean?"

Angel shakes her head. "I don't know. I guess I'm just used to...beating the bad guy in an epic showdown, you know? This was kind of anticlimactic."

I grin. "Aw, you're just too used to fighting supervillains. Out here, ninety percent of a hero's job is deterrence and de-escalation."

She shakes her head fondly. "Listen to you, you sound like a cop…" As if she said the magic word, that's when the sirens come down the street. I look over at the convenience store to find the clerk standing in the window, holding her phone out; she must have called it in. I give her a wave, and she blushes and pretends to be working. The cop car that pulls in is followed by a news van, which seems like a little much. I turn back to the boys and say "It's cool, just hang back, we'll take care of this," and when I turn back around Angel's already walking toward the cops and press. I jog a few steps to catch up, and she squeezes my hand before she steps forward.

"Earth Angel!" The reporter, a woman with dark hair I vaguely recognize from Channel 9, manages to beat the cops to us, much to their visible annoyance as they step out of their car. "Can you tell us what happened here?"

She holds up her hand. "It was a domestic dispute, we stepped in before anyone was seriously hurt. I'm afraid I can't go into any more detail. We're just glad we were here to help."

"Speaking of we, are you two working together now? Flying Fox, are you going to join the Centurions?" She looks down at our hands, fingers still threaded together. "Or is this what superheroes do on a date?"

My eyes go wide and I instinctively want to pull my hand back, but Angel just holds it tighter. "Sorry, Kathy,"—that's it, Kathy Kirk! Thank Christ, it was going to bug me all night!—"we don't have any big announcements to make right now. We're just getting to know each other." She shoots me a wolfish smile, and I blush under my mask. "Excuse us a second, we should really talk to the cops."

As the female cop rolls her eyes and her partner tries to muscle past Kathy, who's still shouting questions, Angel leans over to murmur in my ear. "Sorry for taking over like that. It's just our street patrols are sort of a PR thing, and I'm more used to dealing with the press."

I just purse my lips. "Getting to know each other, huh?"

She squeezes my hand again. I squeeze back.

* * *

"You've been seeing a lot of this bitch," Tish observes as we sit in the low branches of one of the trees lining 20th. We're waiting for the cops, just like I was with Angel on that night we patrolled together a week and a half ago, which would probably be a meaningful contrast or something if it wasn't for the fact that it's how I spend like fifty percent of my time anyway.

"Yeah, well, it's called having a girlfriend," I reply snidely, even though Angel and I haven't used that word yet. I mean I have, in my head, a lot, but it's not a label we've sat down and talked about. "You should try it, now that Darrel's out of the picture."

"We got back together," she mutters, and I roll my head back with a groan.

"Are you fucking kidding me? How, why?"

"He apologized for being an asshole, said he was gonna do better about the whole bi thing."

"That's what he said last time! Don't you get that at this point you're just setting yourself up to get hurt because, hey, at least there's sex?"

Tish frowns flatly. "Well, I guess you'd know, wouldn't you?"

"Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?"

She rolls her eyes. "Girl, I've hooked up with majors before. What she's doing with you right now? It's called slumming."

"Oh fuck you."

"I'm serious. I get that you had this crush as a kid, but you need to get real. She's either gonna drop you as soon as the sex gets routine, or she's gonna try to get you to change for her. Because right now you are literally not in her league, and a Centurion hookin' up with some nightcrawler doesn't look good on TV. And that's the only thing that matters to them."

I roll my eyes. "You're full of shit."

Tish snorts. "Yeah, whatever."

"You wanna know what I think?" Trevor asks in my ear.

"No," I snap.

"You wanna know what I think?" the dazed wannabe arsonist in the dragon mask asks woozily as he swings upside down from the tree. Tish and I both scowl.

"No!"


	9. ...and the Perils of Doctor Oblivion

Angel and I see each other every few days—or rather every few nights—over the next week, but we never patrol together again. I guess being in the majors means she only spends like a night a month doing what I do for PR reasons. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't love being Rosie with her, but I do miss the exhilaration of being Flying Fox and Earth Angel together.

Which is why it catches me completely off guard when a text from her wakes me up Wednesday morning around ten.

_Are you up I need your help_

I'm still a little groggy as I paw at my phone. _What's wrong?_

_Three giant robots in lake. Turn on news_

I stumble into the main room and to my laptop, turning on the TV as I go.

"...origin is still unknown, but members of the Centurions at the site of the attack claim the designs are consistent with those of infamous mad scientist Doctor Oblivion."

My phone buzzes.

_Are you coming?_

* * *

The whole time I'm scrambling into my costume and swinging my way downtown, I'm thinking the same thing:

_This is fucking insane._

I'm not equipped to fight giant robots! All I do is glide around and kick shit and zip-tie people! This isn't the same thing as Angel coming down to Earth to fight muggers with me for a night. What the fuck am I doing?

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I don't know!" I shout back at Trevor. "Helping my girlfriend? Being a superhero?"

"You're gonna get your dumb ass killed, you know that right?"

"I know! I'm not a...oh shit!"

"Can you see it? What's it look like?"

"They're draining the lake! They're sucking up the water, Jesus fucking Christ!"

"Okay, I hate supervillains as much as the next guy but that is legitimately fucking cool." My earpiece beeps. "Hey, uh, I've got Voodoo on the other line. She wants to know what the fuck you think you're doing?"

"Tell her I don't know!"

I grapple up to the top of the Bachelor Building to get a better look, and almost scream and lose my grip on the spire when Angel suddenly drops down next to me. "You came!"

She floats closer and kisses me, and when she pulls back I laugh nervously. "Yeah, I came. I don't know what you expect me to do now that I'm here, but…"

"We've got everyone we can out on top of them, see?" She points out over Lake Superior, at the little specks crawling around the surface of the three city-block-sized tentacled Frisbees. "We're looking for weak spots, exposed wires...you know how to defuse bombs, right? Go with that!"

"This is insane, you do know that, right?"

She kisses me again, harder. "God you're so fucking badass."

As Angel flies off toward the fight, I shake my head and blow out the breath I've been holding since I left my apartment. Not literally: with superheroes, you have to specify.

Badass, huh? What the hell. Let's find out.

* * *

I head for the closest one; I can almost reach it by gliding from the top of the Bachelor Building, and grappling up its tentacles gets me the rest of the way there. I have no clue if this thing can see, or...sense me somehow, but however it works a few of the smaller, sharper tentacles take swipes at me as I ascend. I am starting to have serious concerns about this.

They only get stronger when I reach the top and see half a dozen superheroes spread out across the surface, dodging or fighting mechanical tentacles of various sizes as they also look for gaps in the welded armor plating that covers this thing. The first hero I actually get close enough to to recognize is, of all people, Blizzard, her partner nowhere in sight and her tactics seeming to revolve more around freezing tentacles than looking for a weak spot. But then again, I don't think it's exactly a huge insult to say that she doesn't really strike me as being very mechanically inclined.

When she turns in my direction and sees me looking at her, she pauses. "Um, hi? Do I know you?"

I wince. "Sort of? I'm Angel's girl...friend."

Blizzard's pale blue eyes narrow, then go wide as she no doubt remembers the one time we 'met.' "Oh. Um...hi."

"Hi. You wanna forget this awkward lesbian relationship drama shit and fight robots?"

"Yes please!"

And that's exactly what we do. Well, mostly she fights robots, using her ice blasts to keep the tentacles at bay, while I scramble around looking for gaps in the armor. Unfortunately I'm not having any luck; this plating is thick and tight and even when panels slide open to let tentacles out there's nothing exposed to get at. The actual mechanisms of these things must be under at least a foot of armor and tentacle ports; no wonder they're so big.

"I don't get what we're supposed to do!" Blizzard shouts over the sound of Laserflare making another attack run along the side of our platform; she sounds almost scared, which given the circumstances I'm not exactly judging. "This is crazy, there's nothing we can do to aaaagh!"

I duck under one of the little sharp tentacles just in time to see one of the big ones slam into Blizzard's stomach, knocking her shrieking over the side. Fuck!

I take off running without taking time to think, diving over the edge after her; with my body streamlined I'm faster than she is flailing, and I manage to hook my arm around her waist. Unfortunately I can't glide like this, and even if I could I start tumbling with Blizzard as soon as I catch her. I still have one hand free to draw my grapple gun, but the spinning means I have to time it...just…

We stop falling. The lurch almost dislocates my arm, but I still have enough control to retract the grapple and get us back up to the surface of the robot. By the time I let go of her, Blizzard's crying.

"Omigod, omigod thank you, omigod you saved me!"

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay, you're fine. We need help out here, did you see—"

My body jerks. I blink, then look down to find the red tip of a sharpened tentacle sticking through the armor over my stomach. Okay, but...that doesn't make any sense. The robots are dark green. Why would the tentacle be red?

That's my last thought, that and that Blizzard's terrified, frantic screaming really should sound louder, before I collapse.


	10. ...and the Recovery

"Oh Jesus, you're okay!" Tish almost knocks me over with the force of her hug, and I wince. I'm tempted to point out that if I was hurt enough to worry her that much she should probably also be more careful about squeezing me, but I manage to bite my tongue.

Which is stupid, because it was the only part of my body that didn't already hurt. "Hey, I'm fine. See? Doctor Lazarus put me in this kind of...I don't know, like a 3D printer? There won't even be a scar."

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Tish keeps berating me even as she lets go and Clara moves in for a hug too. We're out in front of the Colosseum, at street level this time; since Clara's the only friend I have with a car, she and Tish came to pick me up. I'm wearing what's left of my costume—which, really, is everything but the armor and the undersuit, if I'm being optimistic—with a Centurions merch hoodie thrown over it while they're in civvies.

"I know, okay? You were right, I'm an idiot, I'm sorry, can we just go home? Apparently I'm gonna need to sleep for like two days because of the tissue...something."

"Yeah. Yeah, it's okay, girl, we got you."

"Baby!"

I pause halfway into the car as Angel drops down behind us, rushing forward to wrap her arms around my shoulders and kiss me. "Angel…"

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you woke up! I stayed as long as I could, but then they made us debrief and talk to the press, and by the time we were done...are you really okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Really, everyone, I'm...I'm fine." Physically. Mentally, well...I just got run through by a robot the size of a city block and almost bled to death. Mentally I'm not fine. I try to smile anyway. "I just...I just need to go home and sleep."

"Of course. Of course, baby, I...I'll call you. Or...I'll come visit later, or..." Angel kisses me again, then steps back to let Tish and Clara pour me into the back seat. I wave goodbye, then roll over to press my face against the cushions.

Sleep. I need to sleep.

* * *

I sleep. Awkwardly, in fits and starts, on and off for almost three days. Tish, Clara, Jenna, and Morgan all stop by with food or just to hug me. Even Trevor actually leaves his apartment to come check up on me in all his stringy, bearded glory. That goes something like:

"So you're not dead."

"Yeah. I guess not."

"Good. I am really not up for job hunting right now."

"Glad to help."

"Yeah. So...hey, I'm gonna send you some porn. Okay? Like, real lesbians. Amateur. The really good shit."

In other words, things are slowly getting back to normal.

Then Sunday afternoon, there's a knock at my door. I figure it might be Tish; when they learned I technically had a new liver, the girls talked about bringing brunch to my apartment to christen it, although we never really made any plans. But when I open the door, Tish is nowhere to be seen. Just Angel.

Or rather, just Britney.

She's wearing a hoodie and yoga pants, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she still looks like a supermodel. She smiles shyly, and my throat goes dry. "Hi."

I swallow. "Hi."

"I...I'm sorry I didn't come by sooner. I just...didn't know what to say."

"It's okay. I've been...kind of out of it, so…" I mean sure, it would have been nice to see my girlfriend at some point during my convalescence, but she doesn't exactly have a lot of control over her own schedule. One more reason I like the minors. "Oh, sorry. Come in."

I feel a little nervous as she follows me inside—this is actually the first time she's seen my place—but her eyes stay on me.

"Baby...I don't...you are such a fucking hero. And I think everyone in this city is starting to realize it."

I wince. "Gee, no pressure, right?"

She smiles. "This is for you."

I blink; for the first time I realize she's carrying a silver garment box. We sit down on the couch and she passes it to me; it's heavy. I glance up at her, and she's smiling and vibrating like she's about to break the sound barrier. Not literally. With superheroes you have to specify.

I open the box, and my eyes go wide. Staring back at me is my own suit. Specifically all the parts that got ruined by the attack, only...moreso. The undersuit is thinner, but also feels sturdier, almost more like plastic than cloth. The chest piece is still leather, but a little more...well, sculpted. It's not boobplate, but it's definitely more feminine. I don't even have to put it on to know that it's lined with something too, something a lot tougher than just leather.

"Do you like it?" I just nod, slowly, because I literally don't know what to say. My gear isn't cheap, but the materials in these pieces probably cost twice as much as the rest combined, including the grapple guns. "I was...hoping you'd wear it on Monday night."

I blink. "Why? What's Monday night?"

Angel squirms in her seat, and the nervousness just makes her more adorable. "We're having this kind of...charity thing, at the Colosseum. To celebrate destroying the robots and raise money to clean up the lake. Lots of cameras, lots of champagne, very boring." She shoots me a shy, sidelong glance. "I was kind of hoping you'd...be my date."

My throat's dry again. I swallow. "You want me to be your date to some big Centurions party? What about not announcing anything?"

Angel smiles. "Well, I was thinking this could sort of be our first official public appearance. Together."

My head is swimming. In the back of my mind, I've been worried this whole time that Tish might be right, that Angel's just using me for a good time and she'll move on when she gets bored. But what if she's not? What if this is actually…

I sniff. "Of course I'll be your date to some stupid stuffy gala, what kind of girlfriend do you think I am?"

A brilliant grin splits Angel's face, and she leans in for a kiss.


	11. ...and the Final Battle

"You sure about this?" Trevor asks over my phone. I'm getting dressed at home, but we're talking on the phone even though he's like thirty feet away in his apartment because, well, it's Trevor.

"Yeah, sure I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, dude, just all the cameras, all the PR bullshit. Doesn't seem like you."

"I am making an effort to share my girlfriend's interests," I say around the subtle coppery lipstick I'm applying; I don't normally wear makeup when I'm in costume, but like he said, cameras. "Besides, I'm networking." I take a step back and look in the mirror; the new armor looks good, still functional but slightly more feminine. Enough, at least, to hopefully stop another blog from calling me Batboy. "Maybe I'll meet someone there who manufactures grappling hooks. Or, hey, a lawyer specializing in getting out of sex offender registration."

"Fuck you, dude, don't tease me like that."

"Who's teasing? Can you imagine how much shady sexual shit major leaguers get up to?"

"And yet you still want to be one."

I pause in the middle of teasing my shaggy hair where it sticks out of my hood. "I don't want to be one. I'm just dating one."

"Uh-huh."

"You know you're starting to sound like Tish."

"Mm-hm, damn straight I am, girl!"

"Oh my god, Jesus, Trevor, don't, that's so fucking racist!"

"Yeah, right, sorry. You talk to her about this?"

"She gave me some tips. Apparently she used to have to do a lot of fundraisers and shit when she was with the Society of Black Heroes."

"Yeah, well, just be careful. Oh, and if you manage to accidentally get an upskirt shot of Weathergirl at the banquet table and want to settle the debate online about whether she wears panties—"

"I'm hanging up now."

* * *

I stand on the rooftop of the apartment building opposite the Colosseum and take a deep breath. It's an eight story building, which means I can still make out some details in the crowd of fans and reporters milling around the main entrance, chattering excitedly. I think about the last time I was looking down from an eight-story apartment building getting ready to jump; weird how I'm even more scared this time.

The crowd shifts and gets louder as the doors open, Angel stepping out onto the pavement and the revealing white feathers of her costume glittering as the flashbulbs go off. Fuck she's so beautiful.

She looks up, right at me. That's my cue. I jump.

The new armor and suit are a little lighter, which means when I spread my wings the glide's even easier. I float down gracefully, aiming for a spot a few feet in front of her, and when I hit the ground I tuck into a ball, roll, and spring up right in front of her into a kiss that could very easily turned into a savage headbutt if I'd been wrong about the distance. But you know what? I'm damn good at what I do, and I'm feeling lucky tonight. Angel wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me harder, and the crowd goes crazy.

When we pull apart, cameras are strobing and reporters are shouting. "Earth Angel, Flying Fox, does this mean the rumors about your relationship are true?"

Angel turns toward the crowd with a smile. "Of course it does! You think I do that to just anyone?"

"Flying Fox, does this mean you're joining the Centurions?"

"Is it true you can talk to bats?"

"What about the rumors that you and Devilboy are still secretly in love?"

Angel squeezes my hand, a little harder than I think is strictly necessary. "Excuse us, we have to get inside."

As we turn and head for the doors, I lean in. "So far so good, huh?"

She chuckles. "Come on, I want you to meet the mayor."

* * *

I'll be honest, the next hour's kind of a blur. I know there's champagne, and I know Angel drags me around and introduces me to so many Superior City blue bloods and Centurions that I can't possibly retain any names. I see some people I recognize, including Blizzard and Blaze standing together with Blaze giggling for a crowd of press while Blizzard drinks with both hands. I also finally officially meet Weatherman and Weathergirl, who are both even more distinguished in person and who both say how happy they are to have me onboard. So...yay?

After that first hour, it's time for dinner. It's not a lot of food, I guess because they didn't want to interfere with people making speeches. The mayor speaks first, then someone from the Lake Preservation Society, then when we're almost finished eating it's Weatherman's turn. He stands up from the head of the huge horseshoe-shaped banquet table—oh shit, I just realized it's probably supposed to be a 'C' for 'Centurions'—they've set up in the atrium, and everyone goes silent.

"Welcome everyone: heroes, donors, members of the press. Thank you all for being here for this very special event. We're gathered here tonight to help our beloved city recover from last week's unthinkable attack by Doctor Oblivion. As Doctor Corwin said, this incident just underscores how important it is to treasure our public resources, especially the beautiful Great Lake from which our city gets its name. But we're also here to recognize one person in particular, an up-and-coming heroine who not only put herself in the line of fire to help us end the threat posed by the robots, she saved the life of a Centurion in the process. Thank you for being here tonight, Flying Fox."

I wave awkwardly from my seat as a round of enthusiastic applause sweeps over the room. Angel and I are near the center of the table, and it feels like the whole room's watching me.

Then, as Weatherman clears his throat to continue, the whole room's watching something else. Specifically, Blizzard lurching out of her seat, wavering unsteadily as she raises a glass of champagne that, from the look of her, must be at least her tenth.

"I want to make a toast!" she slurs, her glass sloshing out onto the tablecloth as she raises it higher. "To Fly Foxing! She saved my life, and without her I'd be dead!" There's some polite applause as Blaze and her fake smile try to pull Blizzard back into her seat, only succeeding in spilling the rest of her champagne when Blizzard tears her arm away. "And the reason I'd be dead is because my definitely not pretend girlfriend wasn't there fighting with me. Oh no, she was getting carried around by Weatherman doing 'attack runs,' and we all know why, don't we? So they had an excuse to fly around with his cock wedged in her ass!" Confused murmurs go around the table as Blizzard turns to Blaze, whose face is now even whiter than hers. "You think I didn't know, huh you slut? You honestly thought I was too stupid to know you're fucking him? Of course I fucking knew, and guess what, when you were sneaking off to fuck Weatherman, I was sneaking off to fuck his wife!"

Holy shit. Pretty much everyone at the table gasps, except Blaze, Weatherman and Weathergirl, who are all beet red. Weathergirl gets even redder as Blizzard stumbles out of her seat, grabs her by the hair, and plants a very unambiguous kiss on her on her way out the door to the balcony. When she's gone, there's silence. Eventually, Blue Heron stands up with an awkward smile. "We're just going to take a short break while we move out to the observation deck, everybody. Don't worry, we've still got a big announcement to make. Just, let's move out to the observation deck."

People start to awkwardly shuffle away; I turn to Angel, only to find that a scowling, red-faced Weatherman's already pulled her away. My eyes slide past them to the door to the little balcony Blizzard disappeared onto.

It's not hard to find her; she's sitting on the lip of the railing, feet dangling over the edge and shoulders heaving as she cries. She looks up when she hears the door open, wet eyes going wide. Before I can say anything, she practically collapses on top of me in a hug.

"I'm so sorry!" she blubbers. "You saved my life and then I ruined your party, everybody's right I'm just a stupid slut!"

I stroke her hair awkwardly as she cries against my armor. "No, hey, I just came out here to make sure you were okay…"

She sniffs. "God, you're so good. You're like, a real hero, you're not just some stupid slut who got picked cuz she has big boobs and powers and who lies about everything!"

"I really wish you'd stop calling yourself that, you know? You're not a stupid slut."

"Yes I am," she sobs as she squeezes me tighter, "I'm a stupid slut and I thought I was gonna get to be famous and save people and have a pretty girlfriend but it's all bullshit! I...I hate it here, I hate having to lie all the time, I'm glad I told everyone about that lying, cheating...mean bitch!"

I can't help smiling a little. "Yeah, I gotta admit the look on her face was pretty fucking amazing."

Blizzard gasps a little laugh into my chest. I think maybe she might have stopped crying. "Yeah."

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Blizzard pulls back, blinking the last of her tears down her red cheeks and looking up at me with those pale blue eyes almost worshipfully. "Are you kidding? You're like, the only person who actually cares about me! You can totally ask me completely anything!"

"Are you and Weathergirl really…"

She frowns. "Yeah, but she doesn't really like me either. She's just doing it to get back at Carl. And because she gets turned on by thinking about getting caught; to her I'm just like...a cheap thrill. Like how she doesn't wear underwear under her costume."

Oh, if only Trevor could be here now. I give Blizzard a gentle hug. "Look, um...it'll be okay."

Blizzard hugs me, a little more intentionally this time, just as the door opens. Angel looks down at the drunk, cried-out superheroine wrapped around me, and I give her an apologetic smile. She shakes her head fondly.

"Figured you'd be out here. Come on, we need you down on the observation deck."

Blizzard sniffs. "It's okay. Go ahead. I already screwed up your big night enough, I just need to be alone and think about some stuff."

"Okay. Just...it'll be okay. I promise."

Blizzard nods and lets go of me. Angel takes my hand and tugs me back out the door.

As we walk hand-in-hand up the stairs leading to the water-facing observation deck, I look over to find Angel smiling at me. "What?"

"You really are just such a hero. Are you planning to rescue a kitten from a tree next?"

I grin. "I'm considering it. Maybe pull a baby out of a burning building, whatever comes up first."

She laughs and squeezes my hand. "You are so fucking amazing. No one deserves to be here more than you."

She pushes open the door to the observation deck, and my face is filled with flashbulbs. When they relax, a slightly more composed Weatherman waves us forward into the semicircle between the wall and the crowd of press and donors. His hand claps down on my shoulder—a little harder than seems strictly necessary, but I put that down to stress—and he ushers me forward.

"Like I said before, tonight isn't just about helping Lake Superior recover, it's about recognizing one of this city's most promising young heroes. That's why it's our pleasure to present our newest Centurion...Flying Fox!"

My eyes go wide. I feel like I just got shot in the chest. Not literally, with superheroes you have to specify. I can't do anything but stand there, shaking, as Angel opens the box Doctor Lazarus holds out and turns toward me, her hands stretching out holding the stylized silver C emblem they all wear somewhere. This one's been made to slot into the recessed oval on my new armor.

Or rather, the recessed oval on my new armor was made for this. When Angel pushes forward to click it into place, I grab her wrists. She blinks. "Baby, what are you doing?"

I frown. "What am I doing? What is this?"

Angel's big, proud smile takes a little hit. "Baby, come on, this is a big deal, just put it on."

"Did it not occur to you to ask me about this first?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise." Her eyes turn toward the crowd, and her smile gets bigger and faker. "Baby, the cameras. Just put it on, okay?"

"What's the holdup, ladies?" Weatherman hisses as he leans over as casually as possible. I can feel the tension in Angel's wrists, but I don't care.

"Excuse us, we need to talk." Before Weatherman can object, I pull her with me back through the door to the stairwell.

As soon as the door swings shut, Angel rips her arms from my grip. "Baby, what the fuck?"

My eyes narrow. My cheeks are on fire. Not literally, with superheroes you have to specify. "You're mad at me? What the fuck, Angel? How could you ambush me like that?"

"Ambush you? I wanted it to be a surprise! What was I supposed to do, say 'Hey, bae, wanna be a Centurion?'"

"Yes! Because if you had, I might have thought about saying yes! But this? No fucking way!"

Angel's eyes narrow. "Excuse me? Do you know how many loser sad sack nightcrawlers would kill for this? Do you have any idea what it takes to become a Centurion? I'm handing it to you on a fucking platter!"

I can't believe what I'm hearing; Tish was right about everything. I'm shaking. My hands are fists. I wish there was something here I could smash. "Oh, well, forgive this sad sack loser for not getting down on her knees and thanking you for your fucking charity, but maybe I'd rather be on the streets helping people with my friends than turn into a shallow publicity whore who chews people up and spits them out to help her fucking image!"

Angel sneers at me. "Oh please. Like my 'image' isn't the only reason you're with me? Like you're not just fucking me because you've been fantasizing about it since you were fourteen or whatever? I'm not the shallow one. You are."

Before I can say anything the door opens between us, admitting a moment of agitated crowd chatter followed by Weatherman. He closes the door, then looks between us expectantly. "Well? What's going on?"

I fold my arms across my chest. "I'm not doing this."

"What?"

"I don't want to be a Centurion!"

Weatherman pinches the bridge of his nose. "Then why did you agree to this?"

"I didn't! Nobody told me shit, Angel just told me to come to a fucking party with her!"

Weatherman blinks, then turns to face the blushing blonde. "Britney. Are you kidding me?"

She shrugs, suddenly seeming a lot less righteous than she was a minute ago. "I wanted it to be a surprise," she says weakly, and Weatherman scoffs.

"Jesus Christ, this is Pressurepoint all over again."

I squint. "What?"

Angel frowns. "He was...this guy I dated. I got him into the Centurions, and—"

"And three weeks later we kicked him out for stealing our tech and trying to sell it on the black market! Christ, Britney, every time you hook up with some nightcrawler you think you can spin it into some epic star-crossed lovers shit and the press'll just eat it up! Instead you just made us look like idiots again!"

Angel shakes her head. "No, no no no!" She turns to me with a brittle smile. "Rosie, baby, we can still do this! I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but don't you want to be an even bigger hero? Don't you want to help more people and be admired by the whole world and...and be with me?"

I wince. "I don't know. I don't—"

"Baby, please." She leans forward, presses my hand between hers. She takes a deep breath and looks up, her deep blue eyes gazing into mine. "I am in love with y—"

A sharp crack fills the hallway. Until she staggers back, clutching her bright red cheek, I don't even realize I slapped her. She stares at me, eyes watering, as I shake with indignation. "Don't you dare! You do not get to say that for the first time to guilt someone into doing something, Angel! That is not fucking okay!" Just like that, all my anger and embarrassment over being so stupid are right back to the fore.

"You psycho fucking bitch!" She's crying now, but then so am I. "You know what, fine! You deserve to be a worthless, piece of shit nightcrawler!"

"All right, that's enough!" Weatherman steps between us, arms up. "This night's already a fucking disaster! Both of you get out of here before it gets any worse!"

_Boom._

The entire building shakes. The giant, skull-rattling bass drop gives way to the sound of shattering glass, and we pile out of the door just in time to see the crowd of donors and reporters scatter as every window on the—almost entirely glass—Colosseum rains down in shards. The other Centurions have already taken up battle positions as the hovercraft approaches, two giant sets of speakers on each side and a neon blue skull on the front.

"Pathetic Centurions! You thought to celebrate your victory over Doctor Oblivion?" The deep, obviously modulated voice booms out from the speakers, almost loud enough to physically hurt. "Fools! Doctor Oblivion is nothing! You know the old saying; those who live in glass houses...should fear the wrath of the Dublord!"

As the hovercraft moves in, pounding sound waves shattering the few surviving windows and the heroes around me moving to attack, I roll my eyes. Right. Dubstep-based supervillain. Why not?

Perfect end to a perfect fucking night.

* * *

By the time the dust settles, the sun's rising. It was a long night of protecting rich Superior Citizens and members of the press from the Dub-ship and the little unmanned drones we unanimously decided to start calling 'subwoofers' at some point. I have no idea whether the Dublord is going to become the next big supervillain, and I honestly don't care. I just want to go home.

I hear the crunching of glass under booted feet, turn around, and brace myself when I find Weatherman and Angel coming toward me. Weatherman almost smiles a tired almost-smile and places a fatherly hand on my shoulder a lot less forcefully than last night. "Flying Fox. Thanks for your help. You really would make a good Centurion."

I almost smile too. "Yeah, well thanks. For right now I'm happy being a good Grand Champion."

He nods, claps my shoulder again, and turns his attention to the gaggle of somewhat traumatized reporters still dutifully broadcasting about their role in the action. I turn back from watching him go to find Angel watching me sadly.

"Are you really sure?"

I sniff. "Are you really in love with me?"

Her eyes drop. "I...I really like you. A lot. And we'd be such a good couple, and—"

"I don't want to end up like Blizzard and Blaze," I say. "Or Weatherman and Weathergirl."

She winces. "You mean you don't want to end up like me."

I shake my head. "I don't want to be a prop. And even if we were together for twenty years, and you said you loved me every day…" I sigh. "After this I don't know if I'd ever be able to stop wondering."

She nods quietly. "I...I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

That actually makes me laugh, which makes her look up in indignation, but I can't help it. "Dragged me...Angel...you let me fly. I'll never forget you as long as I live."

She swallows. "We...we could have had something great."

I shake my head. "No. We had something great for as long as we could."

She almost smiles. I lean in, and Earth Angel and Flying Fox—the girl who flies and the girl who only pretends—share one last kiss.

When we let go, there's nothing left to say. I turn and start to walk, broken glass crunching under my boots, every step neatly tearing my heart in half.

Not literally. With superheroes you have to specify.

"Fox, wait!"

I turn around in confusion at the voice that's more nasal and high-pitched than I'm half-wanting, half-dreading, to find a different gorgeous blonde running towards me, practically bouncing out of her skimpy costume. "Blizzard?"

"Are you leaving?"

I shrug. "Yeah." I risk a glance at Angel. She's still standing alone, pretending not to watch. "There's nothing for me here."

She nods sadly, like she really, really gets it. I turn around.

"Can I come with you?" I turn back, eyes wide, to find her with her lips pursed as she rocks nervously on her heels. "I...I don't think there's anything for me here either."

I don't see Blaze anywhere around. I don't suppose it would matter if I did. "Look, Blizzard—"

"The thing is," she blurts out, "I always wanted to be a superhero. When I started getting my period and found out I had powers...I was like, so insanely happy. I thought I'd get to fight bad guys and save people, and...but I was a pretty girl with big boobs who liked to kiss girls, so instead I spent all my time doing photo shoots and interviews and sex tapes...I mean, I actually really liked the sex tapes even if Blaze was never super into the sex, cuz I've always kind of had a thing for—"

I clear my throat. "Blizzard?"

"My point is...after you saved me, I read all about you online, and you can do all this cool hero stuff like...you know, bombs and karate and detective stuff, and I've got powers but I never really learned all the other stuff you need to be a superhero, so…" She looks up to shyly meet my eyes. "I was thinking...maybe, if you wanted...I could be your...sidekick?"

I blink. Then I blink again, because the only other thing I can think to do is laugh. One of the most famous supers in the city wants to sidekick to a mid-tier nightcrawler because we both realized our girlfriends were using us.

But then, why the fuck not? My best friend has green magic tentacles, I've fought supervillains who use squirt guns, French fries, and dubstep, and I have a 3D-printed liver. This is Superior City. 'Stranger things have happened' might as well be the fucking town motto.

"You're serious about this?"

She nods eagerly. "Yeah. I've been a Centurion for too long. I'd rather be a superhero."

After everything that's happened, I can't help but laugh. This time when I walk away, it's with my arm around Blizzard's shoulder.

"Blizzard...I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."


	12. ...and the End

**_Six Months Later_ **

"Your necklace too! Come on, take it off!"

"Okay, okay! Just don't shoot me with that...ugh, Jesus, why bleach?"

"You won't be asking that when your eyes are drowning in it, honey! Now hurry up! Oh, and if anyone asks, you were mugged by the ruthless criminal mastermind known as Squirt! I'm trying to work on my rep, you know?"

"You know what'd be great for your rep? Fighting a superhero!"

He turns toward the mouth of the alley, eyes going wide behind his stupid little scuba goggles. "Fox Girl! My archnemesis!"

I roll my eyes from my position hanging from the corner of the wall. "Dude, seriously? We met once."

He laughs imperiously. Ish. "Oh, I remember all too well! And ever since I got out of jail, I've had something special just for you...this!" He pulls one of the half-dozen water pistols from his belt and squeezes the trigger. Whatever special anti-me weapon is supposed to be in there, nothing comes out. He blinks. "Wh...fine! I'll defeat you the old-fashioned way!" He whips up the bleach pistol in his other hand, and the stream sprays toward me…

Then plummets to the pavement and shatters, frozen solid. He looks down at the pistol in confusion. "The hell? Weather report said it was only supposed to be—" Squirt's confused words turn into a confused grunt as I swing into him feet-first, just like last time. As he rolls over and groans, a buxom figure in a white fur bikini—who, incidentally, I would say looks way hotter with black hair and green eyes than the bleach-job and color contacts—hops down from the fire escape, all smiles. I smile back.

"Thanks for the assist, Arctic Fox."

She beams. "You're welcome, Flying Fox."

"Sly Fox to Flying Fox," Trevor says in our ears. I tap my earpiece.

"Go ahead."

"Apartment building on fire at 20th and Tabor. You lovely ladies wanna check it out?"

I look at my sidekick. She grins, and so do I. "We're on our way."

I grapple into the sky, and she follows on a rising column of ice. And you know what? I'd say we both look pretty fucking badass.

I'm the goddamn Flying Fox. Time to save the world.


End file.
